


Yes, Father

by Morgana



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Priest Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:26:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana/pseuds/Morgana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean likes Sam's priest outfit in 'Nightmare'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, Father

The wake had, overall, been a waste of time. Sam ran a finger around the inside of his collar as they started for the stairs, but before he could actually go down, a hand closed on his arm and pulled him back into one of the rooms. "Dean?"  
  
The soft click of the door closing sent a shiver of excitement up his spine when Dean answered, "Yeah," his voice rough in a way that Sam hadn't heard in years. "Figured we could wait a little while before we had to go back down there."  
  
Sam tried to ignore the heavy pounding in his blood, telling himself that this didn't necessarily mean what it used to. "We should probably leave soon," he pointed out. "See if we can hit the library for some research before it closes."  
  
"Later," Dean promised. He started moving towards him, and there was no denying the intent there.  
  
Sam took a step back. "Dean, we're dressed like priests!"  
  
Instead of the reminder giving his brother pause, it just made him grin. "Yeah, I know." Two more steps and he was right there in front of him, hands reaching out to settle on his hips.  
  
"God, you have, like, no shame, do you?" It was pretty much a last attempt to stop this, but there wasn't much conviction to it, not when Dean was turning him around to face the wall and Sam was moving readily at his direction, his dick already hardening and pressing against his pants.  
  
He could feel Dean grin against his neck. "Nope," he agreed, popping the button of his pants open and pulling the zipper down. "None whatsoever." One hand dove inside to rub along his length, coaxing him to full hardness. "Completely shameless."  
  
There was no arguing with that. Sam moaned an agreement as his dick twitched against Dean's hand, precome starting to seep into the fabric to create a wet spot that Dean immediately honed in on.  
  
"You know, Sammy, I really liked it when you called me Father in there," he purred, circling his thumb over the tip of his dick. "Got me so fucking hard, thinking of you on your knees in a confessional."  
  
"God, Dean..." He could feel himself blushing at the raw talk. It had been years since someone talked to him like that, and he'd almost forgotten how hot and dirty it could be, how it could make his face hot and his stomach tight and his dick achingly hard all at once.  
  
Teeth nipped at his ear. "Not Dean," his brother chided. "Father. C'mon, Sammy, say it."  
  
He really shouldn't feed into it, but a squeeze of his dick had him moaning, "Yes, Father," all the same.  
  
"Yeah," Dean growled, hand slipping down into his boxers, and Jesus, how had Sam ever not missed this, the harder, calloused, confident grip of the man who'd taught him just how good sex good be? "Like that, Sammy. Just like that, okay?"  
  
"Yes, Father," he repeated, and was rewarded with a moan as Dean pressed up against him, letting him feel the hot, hard line of his dick in his pants. Sam pushed back against it, rocking against him just like he used to when they were kids and desperate to get off.  
  
And just like then, things were unraveling fast. "Gonna get on your knees for me, baby? Suck me off while you're still in that collar?"  
  
He shuddered at the thought. "Yes, Father." Sam was starting to think those were the only words he knew, everything else having been burned away by Dean's hand squeezing and stroking his dick, Dean's mouth on his neck, Dean's teeth nipping at his ear.  
  
"Jesus, look at you. Leaking all over the place," Dean groaned, and Sam could feel more precome blurt out to make him even wetter. "You getting close, Sammy? Gonna come for me, fucking soak yourself, huh?"  
  
He wasn't going to have much of a choice, not with the way Dean was working him over, that callous on his thumb pressing so sweet and perfect against the sensitive spot just under the tip. Sam reached out to brace himself against the wall, praying he was going to be able to stay upright as he panted, "Yes, Father."  
  
"Fucking Christ," Dean swore, and Sam could feel the sting of his teeth against his shoulder through both coat and shirt. "Not gonna last, you keep talking like that. C'mon, Sammy, come for me. Wanna feel you lose it."  
  
One more twist of his wrist and a swipe of his thumb and Sam was gone. He'd never been able to hold out when Dean was urging him on, and this was no different. His knees went weak as he shuddered and groaned through the hardest climax he'd had in a long while, and Dean worked him through it, growling filth and encouragement in his ear.  
  
Sam knew he was going to regret all of this in about five minutes, once the heavy load in his shorts started to cool and his pants stuck to his crotch, especially since there was still the ride back to the motel to look forward to, but right now, with Dean stroking him through the last of his orgasm, all he could think about was how he'd gone four years without this and why had he ever thought he wanted to get away from this?!? Dean eased his hand out and Sam could feel him wipe it off on his pants, but that didn't really matter, since they'd have to be washed anyway. He heard his brother swallow hard and knew he was about to offer some kind of apology, but before he could, Sam turned around and reached out to fist one hand in the lapel of Dean's jacket.  
  
The wall hit his back as he tugged Dean in with a low, "Thank you, Father."  
  
Dean's heartfelt groan just before their lips met told him that everything was going to be okay. Whatever else they had to deal with, they had each other, and that was more than enough.


End file.
